


The Oldest Art

by merulanoir



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: A human stumbles into a cave, A nonbinary character, A vampire rescues him from kikimores, M/M, Mentions to canon-typical homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-11-04 13:13:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20749256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merulanoir/pseuds/merulanoir
Summary: A cold shiver raced down Albert’s spine. He was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was standing all alone in a cavern deep underground. He was not superstitious, but he was a professor; a side effect of learning everything there was to Redanian plantlife was a mediocre knowledge of the post-Conjunction creatures.If it is clever enough to garden, it might let me go, Albert thought inanely.





	The Oldest Art

**Author's Note:**

> Albert and Jean are witcher universe oc's I created with [Kiko](https://twitter.com/ConAffettoKiko). Albert is a human male in his thirties. Jean is a higher vampire. 
> 
> They came alive one evening, when Kiko said "hey meru, create a vampire oc who's a gardener." I did, and then I gave them a partner, because why not. I hope to make other people as ridiculously invested in them as I am, because they will come up in some later work. <3

Rain was tapping gently against the waxed hood of Albert’s cloak as he made his way through the forest. The woods were alive with running water and autumn calls of birds. He followed the gurgle of the stream to his left, picking a path through the ferns and shrubs. Leaves were just starting to blush, and when he stopped to take a sip of water he swore he could feel heaviness in the foliage; autumn was his favorite time of the year, because nature settling down for cold months made him feel more at ease.

Albert glanced back towards the way he had come, and then took another look at his map. The compass told him he should veer slightly northwest to reach the cave he was looking for. He brushed the tangle of black hair back under his hood, knowing full well the curls would wrestle their way free all over again. The rain picked up as if on cue, and Albert huffed a sigh when he saw his fingers were already getting wrinkled. Against the magic-dry whiteness of the paper their warm brown stood out.

“Alright,” Albert murmured to himself. He took one last look at the map and the compass, adjusted his satchel, and continued trudging through the undergrowth.

Half an hour later he was standing at the mouth of the cave he had been looking for. Rain was falling harder, and Albert was glad to step under the ledge. His cloak had succeeded in keeping him dry for the most part. Cold air wafted up from the cave, and Albert shook his hood back to listen. Only the steady thrum of the rain met his ears, accompanied by the sound of dripping water when he started to walk down the tunnel.

Once it grew dark enough for him to almost stumble, Albert stopped again. He made a face at his boots, which had not stood the test of the Redanian fall. He could feel his toes squelch every time he shifted his weight, and made a mental note to take the shoes to a cobbler once he got back.

Albert took a deep breath and reached into the unknown, and after a moment small flames sprung to life around him. They floated in mid-air, crackling and warm, and once their number reached five, Albert lowered his hands again. He continued walking in the flickering light, trying to listen for sounds.

The tunnel that led him deeper and deeper underground had a rocky floor. The roof was mostly high enough for him to walk upright. Air got colder as he walked, and Albert sent a brief thanks to his father Aalim for teaching him the fire spell all those years ago. Aalim’s words floated back to him, his familiar lilting accent providing a brush of comfort in the impenetrable underground darkness.

_ Dark places are only as scary as we make them. Prepare well and bring a light when you delve into such locations, and all will turn out well. _

_ So simple, _ Albert thought with a slight smile. He was old enough to know that life rarely conformed to one’s expectations, and his own path was all the proof he needed. He had never meant to study at the Oxenfurt Academy, but after a lecturer of herbology had discovered Albert’s garden, a new road had opened up for him.

All in all, his path had led him here, scrambling through an uncharted cave one of the younger students had discovered some weeks ago. She had confided in Albert, who served as the acting professor of herbology and mycology while the old master drew her last breaths. Hearing her breathless, half-terrified explanation had sparked Albert’s curiosity. The student had talked about a special environment, and Albert knew that could mean something scientifically interesting.

It could also turn out to be a prank, Albert told himself when the roof suddenly dropped low and he was forced to crawl through the narrow passage. Or just an honest mistake. The student was only on her third year.

Once the roof swept up again, Albert forgot all about the student and the Academy. His small flames fluttered in a faint breeze, and when he drew in a breath he could smell something...almost sweet. It was a scent Albert couldn’t place, but it tugged at his memory. He discarded the thought, and then he spied a very faint turquoise glow further ahead. He took a few brisk steps and then halted; whatever was growing here, it had most likely dwelled in this cave for decades. That meant almost complete darkness, and the flames could cause damage.

The thought of snuffing out his magical flames sent a shiver down Albert’s spine, but then he took a deep breath and gathered the flames into the palm of his hand. Gradually they pulled in, almost appearing to vanish inside him, and then he was alone in the dark. Albert swallowed and focused on breathing steadily. He couldn’t see anything, just the very faint, eerie glow where the tunnel opened up into what he guessed might be a cavern.

It took several minutes, but finally his eyes started to adjust. The glow grew stronger, and Albert risked a few fumbling steps. His sopping wet boots made faint creaks as he inched his way closer to the glow. His hand landed on the tunnel wall, and he allowed the rough stone to guide himself. Occasionally his fingers dragged over moist patches of what his brain suggested must be some kind of a lichen.

_ A composite organism_, his mind told him. Albert snorted at himself. _ It is a combined organism consisting of an algae or a cyanobacteria living among the filaments of fungi. _

“Yes, thank you,” he told himself. He finally reached the mouth of the cavern and stubbed his toe painfully as his eyes took in the glow. He forgot the smarting right away, and a wide smile took over his face in the darkness.

The walls and floor were covered in several kinds of fungi; Albert’s eyes darted around, and he could tell right away the student had been right about there being something special about this cave. He could recognize most of the species, but there were two or three that he had never seen before.

“My word,” Albert breathed. He could hear how delighted his voice was. There was no echo, because the plantlife covering the chamber muffled the sounds. The glow changed hue depending on where he looked, but the longer he stood there the clearer it became that he was looking at a major scientific discovery.

_ I need to make sure no one goes traipsing around, _ Albert thought distantly. He was already composing a list of equipment inside his head, trying to figure out how to avoid trampling over anything, when his mind shuddered to a halt.

There were...paths woven into the cavern floor. Albert wanted to call them something else, but they looked too deliberate to be natural; they started where he was standing, and circled the underground space, intertwining in places. It looked almost as if someone had wanted to make sure they had access to each variety of the glowing fungi.

A cold shiver raced down Albert’s spine. He was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was standing all alone in a cavern deep underground. He was not superstitious, but he was a professor; a side effect of learning everything there was to Redanian plantlife was a mediocre knowledge of the post-Conjunction creatures.

_ If it is clever enough to garden, it might let me go_, Albert thought inanely. He was aware of fear gaining ground inside his head, and he forced himself to slow down his breathing. He crouched down to force his circulation to deliver enough blood into his brain, because wouldn’t that give people a laugh: Albert Campbell, acting herbology professor of the Oxenfurt Academy, found dead in a cave, apparent cause of death fainting and hitting his head on a rock.

“Alright,” Albert mumbled to himself when he was fairly certain he wouldn’t keel over. “They are just paths. As far as you know, you’re all alone here, so let’s just turn around and get back to the surface. Then we can figure out if a risk of painful death is worth the scientific sensation.”

He stood up and cast one last look at the chamber. The longer he looked, the clearer it became that it was not natural; the fungi grew in too neat rows, and the effect of the shifting glow created a spectrum of color. He would have been taken aback by how beautiful it was, but right then there was a low chitter from behind him. 

Albert whirled around and very nearly stumbled when his cloak snagged onto something. He regained his balance right when the chitter repeated, louder and closer. Albert blinked frantically against the darkness, but when the source of the sound came forth he hoped he could have just gone about with his life without ever finding out what it was.

It looked like an insectoid, but it was the size of a large hound. It skulked towards him on four legs which reminded Albert of a scorpion. He couldn’t see any kind of eyes on the creature, just protruding spikes lining what appeared to be the main body.

Behind the first one Albert spied another. The monsters chittered to each other, and once the glow reached them they were entirely too close for his comfort.

_ I am going to die here, _ Albert thought. _ I will be eaten by kikimores, and no one will know what happened to me. _

Many things happened at the same time: Albert saw the first insectoid bend its hind legs, and the primal part of his brain wrenched control away from him; he turned around and was running away before he knew what was happening, and right then the monster lunged. Its jump was clumsy, and Albert heard it land with a crash as he dashed across the chamber. Some part of him apologized for treading over the glowing mushrooms, but most of him was preoccupied with blind panic. He didn’t know whether running away would do him any good.

Albert risked a glance over his shoulder, and right when he saw the kikimores scrabble after him he collided with someone. There was a startled gasp as they both went down in a mess of limbs, and Albert let out a rather alarmed yelp when his hand connected with something warm. It took him a second to realize his hand was resting on an arm. It appeared to belong to another human being, except why would anyone be here in an underground cave riddled with monsters?

Albert turned his head to see who—or what—was lying under him, and then he froze again.

It was a human. Someone with a very pale face framed by long hair, and sporting an expression of such honest puzzlement that Albert felt himself blush with embarrassment before his mind reminded him that they were both about to die.

“Kikimores,” Albert croaked. He tried to get up, but they had collapsed straight into a thick cluster of mushrooms. His hand slipped, and he only narrowly avoided landing right back against the stranger.

The stranger grimaced.

“I’m sorry,” they whispered. Albert opened his mouth, but the stranger vanished. One moment they were there, solid and warm, and the next there was a cloud of dark grey mist. Albert stumbled into the mess of squished, still-glowing mushrooms as the unfamiliar body vanished from under him. He was distantly aware of his frantic panting as he struggled to his feet, and then he froze again.

The mist surged towards the kikimores, and then ran straight through the first one. Slime burst out as it cut straight through the thick chitin, and the second monster had barely enough time to turn around before the mist ran it into the far wall and crushed it like a ladybug.

Albert straggled back onto the closest path, hands shaking and lungs wheezing. He watched as the mist reformed into a humanoid figure, and his academia-riddled brain went eerily quiet. There weren’t many things that could turn into mist. Fewer still that could kill two kikimore warriors without breaking a sweat. 

Albert had met a few witchers before, and each of them had mentioned that some contracts you just ignore; losing one’s life hunting the more elusive creatures wasn’t worth any amount of gold.

The stranger took a while to inspect the kikimore carcasses. Once they appeared confident the monstrous insects were dead, they turned to face Albert. In the cool hues of the glowing mushrooms their skin looked like that of a drowned person. Albert met their wary gaze, and his heart was beating entirely too fast.

The stranger started to walk towards Albert. They didn’t turn into mist again, but followed the tangle of paths, and once they were a few feet away they stopped. Their arms hung limp against their sides, and closer up Albert saw that their face was indeed almost fearful. He couldn’t tell what color their eyes or hair were, or whether they were a man or a woman, for that matter; they had a slight frame and sharp cheekbones.

“Thank you,” Albert blurted out. His brain kept trying to guess what manner of a creature the stranger was, but they had killed the insectoids and saved him.

The stranger cocked their head. Wariness gave way to confusion.

“_Thank you?_” they echoed. Their voice was like their face, delicate and careful. 

“You saved me.” His voice was hoarse with fear, but the longer he spent standing here, the more he was starting to hope that maybe he wouldn’t end up dead just yet. “If there is anything I can do to thank you…” he trailed off.

The stranger frowned. Then they looked around. Albert followed their gaze, and when it settled onto the trampled mushrooms he felt an honest jolt of shame.

“I’m sorry for destroying them,” he said. “I panicked.”

Puzzled gaze returned to his face, and then there was a very small smile tugging at the person’s thin lips.

“The kikimores were going to kill you. I’d say your reaction was perfectly natural.”

Albert could feel his cheeks color, and he prayed that the lighting was dim enough for his savior not to notice.

“Still,” he muttered. “I figure this must be your garden. I didn’t mean to intrude.” He realized he was still covered in bits and pieces of mushrooms, and started to wipe the worst of the mess away.

“That is true,” the stranger suddenly said. They relaxed a bit. “But the kikimores have been wreaking havoc here for several weeks now. They are clever enough to avoid me, for the most part, but your scent lured them out.” 

Albert wondered, again, what manner of a creature the person was, and then sighed as he discarded the question. He was alive for the time being, and the stranger didn’t appear hostile. That should be enough for him.

“Glad to be of service,” Albert sighed. He gave up the effort to clean himself. He glanced around himself again, and finally the sensible part of his head was back. “This place is _ amazing_. The mycorrhizal network must be completely unique, I’ve never seen anything like this.”

He didn’t know what made him say it, but as the words settled into the short distance separating them, Albert noticed the stranger’s mouth opening slightly. The expression they wore was suddenly almost vulnerable.

“Why are you here?” they asked.

Albert pondered his options, but then gave up. Telling the truth was as likely to get him killed as lying, it seemed.

“I’m a professor at the Oxenfurt Academy. I study and teach herbology and mycology. One of my students found this cave but didn’t dare to enter by herself, so I came to investigate. I was curious.” The last sentence came out almost embarrassed, but it appeared to do the trick. The stranger smiled again.

“This is my fungal garden,” they said quietly. Then their eyes dropped to Albert’s left hand. “You’re injured.”

Albert lifted his hand, and was surprised to see he was bleeding. He had not felt that. He prodded the wound and frowned; half of his hand was numb.

“You will need an antidote,” the stranger said. They were suddenly standing much closer, and when Albert looked, their eyes were once again wary. “I have it at home. If you come with me, I promise I won’t hurt you.”

“You already saved me,” Albert said with a resigned sigh. “If you wanted to dispose of me, I bet it would have been rather trivial.”

“No,” came the quiet answer. The person pursed their lips and looked down. “I don’t kill. I will let you go, afterwards.” They drew in a breath, and then spoke still quieter: “I only ask that you give me a day or two to pack. Witchers won’t be able to track me once I’m gone, and I promise I won’t cause any trouble.”

“Hey, whoa, now.” Albert blinked and without thinking, he gripped the stranger’s wrist with his uninjured hand. “I am not going to send witchers after you. Why would I do that?”

The stranger blinked. Their skin was warm to touch, and Albert held on. The contact was soothing in the middle of the darkness.

“I am not human,” they finally whispered. Their eyes were enormous with confusion.

“You saved me,” Albert shot back. “If anything, I owe you for butting in and destroying half of your garden.”

There was a long silence. Albert started to feel awkward, but then the stranger finally smiled. Their face lit up with it, and they looked cautiously hopeful.

“Alright. Follow me, you’ll need the antidote soon, or else your nerves might be damaged.”

***

The walk back to the forest seemed both longer and shorter than before. Albert didn’t dare to conjure up his flames again. He tried to follow the sure footsteps, but as soon as the glow faded into total darkness, he tripped over a rock. He expected to fall, but sure, strong hands caught him.

“I apologize,” the stranger said close to his ear. “I forgot you can’t see in the dark.” Their voice was gentler now, and Albert suppressed a shiver.

“Yeah, we humans are lacking in many ways,” he said with a faint laugh. An amused huff ghosted over his cheek, and then there were fingers winding among his.

“Stay close to me, please,” the voice said. “I will warn you if there are any obstacles.”

Albert swallowed. He knew they were holding hands for a reason, but the stranger’s touch was comfortable. He still couldn’t tell whether they were a man or a woman, not even based on their voice. 

“My name’s Albert,” he said just to wrench himself free from the odd stupor his mind wanted to sink in. He didn’t expect an answer, but then there was a minute tightening of the fingers.

“I’m called Jean.”

He didn’t stumble again as they made their way out, but when natural light started to shine ahead Albert realized he had spent much longer in the cave than he had thought; the early afternoon had faded into evening. Even the canopy-filtered, dim light hurt his eyes, and as he stopped to blink, Jean stopped too. They waited as Albert rubbed his eyes, and only when he finally squinted at them did he realize they were still holding hands.

“My home is not far,” Jean said. They let go of Albert’s hand, as if seeing where his thoughts had turned to. “It’s close to the road to Oxenfurt, you’ll be able to return home that way.”

“Hang on,” Albert said as they began to walk. “The town herbalist mentioned someone had taken lodgings in the abandoned stone cabin near the northeastern route. Is that where you live?”

Jean cast a glance over their shoulder. “Yes. I traded with lady Viola a fortnight ago.” They looked back ahead, and Albert stared at their back. Their shoulders were narrow, and between them a bright red braid swung back and forth. It reached their shoulder blades, and despite the dirt that clung to it, it looked very soft.

Albert took Jean in as they walked. They were clad in nondescript dark robes and soft shoes which looked just as wet as his. Their skin was pale even in natural light, and the next time Jean looked over his shoulder Albert saw their eyes were light blue. They gave him that small smile again, and Albert mirrored it without thinking.

The cottage was nestled against a small hill, a stone’s throw from the road to town. They emerged onto a small dirt road from the forest that hugged the northern parts of the Gustfields, and Jean came to a stop. 

“I live here,” they said. They looked towards the road. “I don’t go into the town, but some people know I’m here.”

Albert nodded, not knowing what to say, and then Jean led the way to the small house. They unlocked the sturdy door, and warm air wafted out. A shudder ran through Albert as he stepped in, because there was no escaping it; he was filthy, his trousers were wet up to his thighs, and his feet were probably floating inside his boots. He lingered near the door as Jean went to the fireplace and carefully added a log onto the embers.

It was a neat, small space. The front door opened to a cozy room, with the floor raised above ground level to keep out cold. There was a desk that looked exactly like his own back at the academy, overflowing with mortars, vials, plant cuttings, and pots upon pots of herbs. At the back of the room was a closed door, and Albert guessed Jean’s bedroom must be hidden behind it.

_ If Jean is the kind of creature that sleeps, _ Albert thought as his host turned back towards him. Behind them the flame was slowly crackling to life, and in the warm light Jean looked more human than before. They smiled and nodded towards the sturdy table near the window.

“Please. You can take off your boots and cloak and hang them to dry. Administering the antidote is going to take a while, I’m afraid.” Their voice was mellow now that it has lost the nervous edge, and Albert felt it put him more at ease. He thought of how Jean had assumed Albert was going to send witchers after him; it made him uneasy, because despite Jean’s evident nonhumanity there was nothing alarming about the—man? Woman?

Jean must have seen some of Albert’s confusion bleed through, because they gave him another of those tiny smiles as they stripped off their own cloak.

“If you find it easier, you may think of me as a man,” they said. Pale fingers deftly scraped off most dirt off the cloak and threw it into the fireplace, and Albert bit back his embarrassment.

He if anyone should know that people were different. If Albert could justify his own predilections to himself, how could he judge anyone else for something fairly similar?

“I’m sorry,” he said as he finally worked his boots and socks off. “It’s no business of mine. I meant no offence.”

“None taken,” Jean said. They turned around to rummage through a heavy-looking cabinet next to the desk, and Albert looked at them again. The narrow shoulders flowed to a thin waist, and when Jean moved there was such fluid grace to their movements they hardly made a sound. As they walked to another cabinet on the wall, their hips swayed with the gait, and that was when Albert looked away and focused intently on riddling his cloak of the worst bits of dirt.

Albert sat down next to the table, and noticed a familiar plant by the window. For some reason the round leaves and the way they caught the last rays of the sun made him smile.

“Mirror grass,” Albert murmured, just as Jean sat down next to him with a box of supplies. There was a clink of glass bottles as they settled down. Jean glanced at the plant and nodded. They were smiling again.

“It’s my personal favorite,” they said as they uncorked a vial and emptied its contents to a ceramic bowl. “Fairly common nowadays.”

“I have one in my study,” Albert said. He watched Jean working on the antidote with interest. “It protested me moving into a new room last year and dropped every single leave, but I managed to revive it.”

Jean chuckled. “They can be rather delicate.” Pale fingers screwed open what looked like a bottle of clear alcohol, and then Jean looked at Albert again.

“The fungus you got exposed to is my own project. It produces a neurotoxin that could be cultivated to be used as an anesthetic. Unfortunately direct exposure can cause nerve damage.”

“You’re breeding your own fungi?” Albert asked. He heard the unbridled awe in his tone and coughed, looking away. “If it’s not impolite to ask, I mean.”

A soft laugh drew his eyes back up. Jean was looking at him, and this time their smile was genuine. Albert caught a flash of their teeth before they tempered the expression and refocused on the antidote.

_ Definitely not human, _ Albert thought again. This time there was no fear linked to the thought.

“I like to experiment,” Jean said modestly. “I have a lot of unoccupied time, and I find plants make for decent companions.”

“Tell me about it,” Albert sighed. He rubbed a hand over his stubble and then tried to push his black tangle of hair into some kind of an order. “I’d just move into the academy hothouse and never come out again if I had that option.”

Jean laughed, and their knee brushed against Albert’s under the table. “I’ve never seen a hothouse, to be honest. I focus my efforts on fungi at the moment, because I discovered the cave we met in.” They fell silent for a moment and then added: “And...since I see in the dark and don’t have to fear the insectoids, it’s the best use for my time.”

There was an underlying tension to the words, and Albert could easily guess where it came from. It wasn’t hard to see Jean was lonely and shy; they were clearly torn between wanting to keep their secrets and discuss their experiments. Having to hide integral parts of yourself was something Albert was uncomfortably familiar with.

Albert felt a tug inside his chest. He found he wanted to win Jean’s trust, and not even because he might get to hear more about the glowing fungi if he managed that. There was so much eagerness hiding just beneath the rigid surface, and some part of Albert recognized that feeling.

Reluctant hope.

Jean appeared to finish their work. They sighed and smiled apologetically, gesturing to Albert’s numb left hand.

“I’m afraid this will be unpleasant. I need to open a vein and take some blood to see how it mixes with the alkaline levels. I’ve never had to treat a human.” Again, there was something testy in it, but Albert just nodded.

“Go ahead.” He rolled up his sleeve and presented his arm to Jean, who blinked in surprise before focusing back on the tools they had laid out. They produced a small syringe, and then swiped alcohol over the bend of Albert’s forearm. Jean’s fingers were warm and sure, and Albert concentrated on breathing evenly as he felt the needle pierce his skin.

He watched as his blood flowed into the cylinder, and then looked up at Jean. Their mouth was slightly open as they focused, and once again Albert could see a glimpse of sharp, white teeth.

_ Witchers call them higher vampires, _ he thought distantly as he started to put the pieces together. _ They look human, and not even the silver medallion alerts to their presence. _

When Albert looked at Jean again, they met his eyes with yet another worried frown. They immediately pulled the needle out and pressed a wad of gauze against the tiny wound.

“Please hold that,” Jean whispered. Their fingers trembled as they emptied the blood into another small bowl. Albert cursed his overly expressive face; anyone with half a brain would have been able to see what he’d been thinking.

He slowly reached over the table and grasped Jean’s hand to stop the anxious movement. Their eyes snapped up from the mixture, and a tense silence followed. Albert tried to see if there was anything ominous or dark lurking under the surface, but found nothing; Jean’s eyes were huge, and what little color they had was quickly draining away.

“Are you going to bite me?” Albert asked. He kept his voice gentle, but Jean flinched. They didn’t pull their hand away, but Albert didn’t doubt for a second that they would be able to do so.

“I would never,” Jean whispered. They swallowed hard, and looked down. They looked almost ready to cry. “I don’t hurt others.”

“Then I’m not afraid of you,” Albert said. He didn’t think, just rubbed his thumb in comforting little circles against the warm, pale skin. Maybe he was being deceived, and Jean would drain him anyway; if so, there was nothing Albert could do. In the meantime he could be a decent person.

Jean looked up. Albert smiled. “You’ve done nothing to harm me, Jean. I won’t repay that with unkindness.”

Jean sagged back into their chair and let out a hoarse laugh. They wrapped their arms around themself and then rubbed a hand down their face. Albert sat still, but he could feel his smile turning a bit sad.

“I have stuff I need to hide too,” he said quietly when Jean looked like they were mostly in control again. “I know how it feels, sort of.”

Jean cleared their throat and then very carefully reached for Albert’s left hand, resting palm up on the table. They laid their palm against Albert’s and let it stay there. This time the contact was easy, and meeting Jean’s eye made Albert’s stomach swoop.

“Thank you.”

Administering the antidote turned out to be slow and unpleasant. As the neurotoxin wore off a hot, dull pain started to pulse along Albert’s arm. He tried to hide his discomfort, but Jean just gave him a sympathetic smile. 

“I know it hurts,” they said as they injected the last dose into the muscles of Albert’s wrist. “But this way there won’t be any lasting damage to your hand.”

“I’m just being a big baby,” Albert said with a pained grin. His arm felt like it would fall off any minute now, but Jean’s calm demeanor kept him from bolting up from his chair. Albert was surprised to discover he really trusted the vampire with this. Maybe it was stupid, a voice sounding remarkably like his sister whispered inside his head, but what options did he have?

Albert was deep in thought, and then a sudden touch to his forehead made him jump. He met Jean’s eyes, and realized they had moved. There was a wet a piece of cloth in their hand, apparently to wipe away the worst of the sweat.

“Sorry,” Jean said. “I forget you can’t necessarily hear me move.”

Albert chuckled. When he didn’t pull away, Jean returned the cloth to his face. The cool touch felt nice, and without thinking Albert closed his eyes. His left arm was still useless and chewed by the pain, but all he could focus on was how Jean very carefully touched his chin to hold him still as they wiped away sweat and dirt.

Something unexpected unfurled inside Albert’s chest. When he blinked his eyes open, Jean was staring at him again, mouth slightly open and clearly lost in thought; the feeling intensified tenfold. It had been such a long time since anyone had touched him so gently.

“Thanks,” Albert said. His voice was barely there, but when Jean smiled in response it felt like all breath went out of him. The room was dimly lit, and in the warm glow Jean looked both ethereal and gorgeously human. The deep copper of their hair caught the candlelight, and Albert could feel how his heart picked up its pace.

_ Can they hear that? Is it bad? _

Jean finally stepped back and looked away, and Albert followed them with his gaze. There was so much to see—the shy set of their mouth, the rapid blinking and intent gaze, all that fluid, easy grace—and all of a sudden he was certain that he needed to come back. Something was unfolding, taking shape, and the only certain thing was that it was dangerous and so, so important.

The pain died down in small increments, and while they waited for the antidote to do its work, Albert started to coax stories out of Jean. He avoided personal questions and instead focused on mycology and trade, and little by little Jean started to open up. Their shoulders lost the agitated hunch; by the time Albert was able to move all five of his fingers again, Jean was more animated as they recounted their efforts to grow the various kinds of fungi.

“Everything seems to be back where it belongs,” Albert finally said when an easy silence had lulled them into comfort. He flexed his fingers and wiggled them, and only some lingering pain answered. He smiled to Jean. “Thank you. It’s much easier to cause trouble when I have two working hands.”

“I’m sure you would manage even with one,” Jean pointed out with an amused smile. Albert barked a laugh as he stood up. He could see it was dark outside, and he guessed it must be close to midnight. He was reluctant to leave, if he was entirely honest with himself.

“I guess I need to get going,” he said as he started to work his mostly dry boots back on. He threw his cloak back on and then stalled. Jean was standing next to the table, hovering like they were looking for words. The fire was burning low, and their face was cast in shadow.

Albert swallowed as he tried to find a way to ask if he could come back. He wanted to return, because there was something hidden here, and it wasn’t Jean’s true identity; something fragile was making him ache, because Jean had saved him from the kikimores, and then saved him again. Jean had touched him; when they had seen Albert liked it, they had not backed away in disgust.

Jean closed the distance and reached for Albert’s left hand. They gently examined the fingers and bent all the joints, with much more care than was needed. That something inside Albert’s chest turned into a bright flame, because Jean kept casting furtive glances at his face; as lost as he was, and as desperate to find a way to bridge the distance.

“You might come back later,” Jean blurted out. They blinked rapidly as they dropped Albert’s hand. “To—to see that the antidote worked properly.”

Albert opened his mouth and then closed it. A slow smile worked itself free when he dared to believe what he heard. 

“I’d like that,” Albert said, and then gave himself a mental kick; that was hardly a sensible answer to Jean’s suggestion.

Jean smiled, shy and amused. Then they stepped around Albert and opened the front door. “I’ll be here,” they said.

The night air was cool and moist, but the sky was slowly clearing. Albert could see stars puncturing the blackness of the sky, and when he looked back towards the small home and Jean standing in the doorway, his chest felt lighter.

“I’ll see you again,” he said, not bothering to raise his voice. Jean’s eyes flashed with the quick smile they hid away, and then they closed the door.

Albert shook his head as he began to walk back towards Oxenfurt. There was a tingle of anticipation at the back of his skull, and he didn’t know what to do with it.

**Author's Note:**

> _Nature alone is antique, and the oldest art a mushroom._  
Thomas Carlyle


End file.
